Her Portrait In Black
by Elerael
Summary: She trained all her life with weapons, and she was the deadliest of them all. "You're not the one I blame."
1. Chapter 1

Hello, all! It is, I, back from the dead! Life has been nothing short of crazy, and I have been away for so long! First and foremost, I want to say THANK YOU to everyone for your words of encouragement and kind reviews! I finally replaced my old computer, and now I hope to continue to improve and give you fics worth reading! I'm a bit rusty now, but this is something that just poured out of my brain (at like 1 am...). I have tossed around the idea of turning this into a mult-chapter fic, so let me know what you think! THANK YEWWWW! -Elerael

Her Portrait In Black

She was alone at the bar when he walked in.

Except she wasn't really alone- she had men flocking around her on all sides, like flies, begging to be the next to buy her a drink. He almost didn't recognize her. Her long chesnut hair was hanging around her shoulders, and her bright amber eyes were dull and almost lifeless.

He walked forward, making his way towards where she was seated. He pushed his way past the throng of men, and took a seat next to the woman. The men who had been so desperate to gain the woman's attention sighed and grumbled, walking away defeated.

"I'll have what she's having, and another for the lady" the man called to the bartender. The bartender busied himself with preparing the drinks.

"I don't need your charity." The woman muttered, lifting her almost empty glass to her lips and taking a long drink. He noticed that she never tore her eyes away from the bar, instead focusing on swirling her drink around with a straw.

"It's not charity," the man replied. The bartender placed the drinks in front of the couple. "Put it on my tab, thanks." The bartender walked away and the man turned his eyes to his companion, who had not averted her gaze from her rapidly emptying glass.

"Well, whatever it is, I don't need it." She swished her glass around gently, listening to the clanking of the ice against the glass.

"It appears to me to be rum and coke. And everyone needs rum and coke." The man lifted his new glass, and tilted it toward the woman next to him. "Cheers," he said, before downing half the glass, and dropping it firmly onto the wood bar. "Ugh," he grimaced, his handsome face contorting in disgust. "Nope, not rum and coke."

The woman chuckled, but it was an empty sound. "Then I definitely don't need it." She sighed, and grabbed her purse. "Thanks anyway." She stood and turned, and the man grabbed her wrist gently. She looked up, for the first time acknowledging her unwanted companion. Her amber eyes looked into pools of onyx, and he swore he saw her eyes narrow for a fraction of a second as she recognized him. She jerked her hand away firmly. "Move your hand."

"Or?" He asked, his voice light with amusement.

"Or I'll cut it off. _Uchiha-san._" Her voice dripped with venom, and he dropped her hand.

"Good evening to you," she said curtly, before turning and making her way for the bar's exit.

Slamming back his drink, he dropped money onto the bar to cover his tab and hurried after the woman. She was already a block away, but he knew she would have been long gone by now if not for the restricting dress and ridiculous heels she was wearing. He easily caught up to her retreating form, and he slowed his pace to match hers.

"What do you want now?" The brunette woman asked, never looking at him or breaking stride.

"To talk," the man said, glacing sidelong at the woman next to him. Her face was gaunt, and her form more skeletal than lithe. She resembled more a stray dog than a lioness.

"I have nothing to say."

"Tenten." The woman stopped in her tracks, hearing her name.

"What? What do you want?" She whipped towards him, resembling a wild animal, more desperate than vicious. "What can you, of all people, possibly want?"

The man sensed the sharpness of her voice. He figured it was only fitting. She trained all her life with weapons, and she was the deadliest of them all. "No one has seen much of you for a while," he answered. It had begun to snow, the white flakes clinging to his dark hair and melting on her pale face.

"The fuck do you care?" She snickered. "I've been around. In fact, I've been around since you left. Since your mopey little spoiled ass walked out and left, and we all picked up the slack." She shook her head, her eyes downcast. Almost nervously, she nudged the snow on the sidewalk with the toe of her shoe as she chuckled to her self. "And now, you come back, and everyone cheers and praises the return of the genius prodigy," she finished quietly.

He stood quietly with her for a moment, replaying her words in his head. "So you hate me," he said matter-of-factly. It wasn't a question. He knew.

She shrugged nonchalantly. She looked into his dark eyes, and addressed him directly for he first time since his return. "Everyone else may have forgotten, _Sasuke_. But I haven't." He returned her gaze stubbornly, and he saw flashes of emotion he couldn't quite place "We had a genius prodigy. You're not doing anyone any favors."

His mind finally clicked all the pieces into place. "Ah," he sighed. "You blame me for your teammate's death."

She stood still for a moment, before turning away. He caught a flash of her eyes, and watched them glimmer with sadness before hardening into amber steel. She stood with her back towards him, and the wind carried her words into his ears.

"No. You're not the one I blame." All he could do was watch her walk away.


	2. Chapter 2

She reached her apartment, and fumbled for her keys. _Damn, it's cold, _she thought, wishing she were already inside the warmth of her tiny home. Finally finding the correct key and mentally cheering, she hurriedly opened the door and stepped though, quickly closing it and locking it behind her.

She sighed, and ungracefully kicked her heels off, one flying much further than she anticipated. _Oh well,_ she thought. _I'll pick it up later._ She trudged through her living room, dropping her small purse and her keys on the end table next to her couch, and continued down the hall to her bedroom.

The walls were barren, lacking any evidence that she lived there. Her apartment was covered in weapons and scrolls, unfinished and needing to be sharpened. After the war, she had thrown herself into her work, striving to become better, faster, stronger, deadlier, more efficient. More reliable.

She plopped down on her bed with a soft 'thud' and sighed once again, placing her face in her hands. She has hoped to get a couple more drinks in, before the Uchiha had stuck his nose where it wasn't welcome and drove her off. She had become somewhat of a regular at the bar. She went almost every night, always alone, and tried to make herself unrecognizable. Her goal was to be left alone, but the lecherous slobs who paraded themselves around her never seemed to get the hint.

She just wanted to be alone. But she was already alone, anyway.

She peeled her tight dress off and changed into shorts and a tank top, and made her way back to her living room, her footsteps echoing off of her empty walls. Dropping herself onto her old couch, she picked up a dull kunai and a whetstone and began the methodical sharpening that always seemed like meditation to her. Back and forth, back and forth, she dragged the blade across the stone, emptying her mind and focusing on the edge of the steel.

She had stopped training with her team, instead taking to the trees and running alone around the village. She often lost count of how many laps she had run, but was usually on the verge of collapse by the time she snapped out of her trance. She would then eat a small meal, and continue her training alone. Then she would head home, shower, and head to the bar. Alone.

Everything she did now was alone. She avoided her teammates, avoided her friends, avoided her comrades. There we no missions lately, so she didn't need to mingle or work with anyone. She cooked for one, if she ate at all. She trained by herself. She drank by herself. She sat by herself in silence at the monument, reading all the freshly carved names. Everything she did was by herself.

She stopped sharpening her blade, and dropped it onto the table in front of her gently. She placed her head in her hands. Since they had returned home, she couldn't face anyone. The rogue Uchiha had returned to the village, and the Godaime had welcomed him, though cautiously, in the wake of he casualties. The village was short manpower, and the traitor was now considered an asset. She didn't agree with the Hokage's decision, but she was just a pair of hands. She had no right to question the rulings of their leader.

She had made it clear to her fellow ninja, though, her distaste with allow a traitor back amongst their ranks, welcoming him back as if the whole war was not begun by him years ago, anyway. After tonight, she figured most probably attributed her disappearance to Sasuke's return, and she was content with letting them. It was easier than dealing with the truth.

She didn't blame Sasuke for her teammate's untimely death.

She blamed herself.

She was in a separate division during the war, but it didn't matter. She was his teammate, his left hand, and he was her best friend. She covered his blind spot, and he protected her. It was just how it was. She should have been there.

She should have covered his blind spot.

She watched Neji fall, and only stood there. What kind of friend was she? One that didn't deserve companionship. One that didn't deserve trust. One that didn't deserve love.

She couldn't bear to look her teacher and surviving teammate in the eyes. It overwhelmed her with a guilt she could not control, could not handle. So she spent her days alone, and she drank away the memory of his beautiful ivory eyes losing their luster.

She wondered what Neji would think, or say to her if he could see her. She quit tying her hair in buns, instead usually forgoing all the trouble for a simple ponytail. Her buns were childish, and children were not murderers.

She didn't eat much anymore, surviving off the bare minimum of nutrients and compensating with alcohol. Her hair was dull, her skin pale. She had begun to lose muscle mass, regardless of how hard she trained. She knew that it was because of her poor self-care, but she just didn't have an appetite, anymore. Everything tasted like blood to her.

She wondered what Neji would think, and she laughed to herself. It didn't matter, corpses couldn't judge.


End file.
